The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNAverse Tale
by mdc1957
Summary: It is an Alternate History/Hetalia AU story set in a 1930s that is not our own. The Terror ended seven years ago, but the world is still wracked in chaos as it struggles to rebuild. And though the writings of one doctor, certain deep secrets are revealed.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes and Disclaimers (EDITED):**

This story you're about to read here is set in an alternate history/_Hetalia_ AU called the RDNA-verse. This was originally posted on , but this version is (more or less, at least) the finished one posted on DeviantArt sometime after that. If there are any warnings and pairings present, if I could call it that, it would be that there's AustriaxHungary, the use of human names, alongside their "Nation" forms and some tearjerking, if not outright bittersweets scenes, with some darker undertones as the story progresses.

Hopefully, all of what I just said will make more sense as this goes along. Any critique is more than welcome.

Also, I don't own the rights of any part of _Axis Powers Hetalia_. Any similarities and homages belong to their respective owners.

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><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

_The following are excerpts from the diary of esteemed analyst Dr. Ludwig Heisenberg, PhD. Recovered after his death in 1947, the original diary is now in the hands of the National Library of Sciences in Neu Wien. The entries seen here, however, are not officially on record. For these pertain to more private matters of state. More specifically, these concern the late Doctor's most enigmatic patient and his most tragic failure. As such, only authorized personnel and the Dynasty are permitted to look into these leaves. Any effort to expose the contents will be apprehended with zero prejudice.__  
><em>_-Office of the Prime Minister (1955)_

21 February 1934  
>A largely uneventful sequence of events. Not too many patients came by today. Maybe a slow day. Maybe things are still hard to come by. I like to think both. Bridget [1] came back with slightly more food. Heard that rationing will finally be over by the end of this week. The children haven't come over since last month. They're too busy anyway to mind about us. I don't want to bother them. Yes, largely uneventful.<p>

I received a notice a couple hours ago from the Reichstag. Said that His Majesty requested for me at the Residence tomorrow 10 AM regarding an "important matter." There wasn't much else on the paper save for some short reminders of protocol. Whether as guests or patients, I've met many nobles. But to have my sovereign summon me directly for a secretive matter? I don't know what to do here. Whatever that may be, it must be grave to have him call the likes of me. Just hope I still recall how to address him properly.

_[1] Wife of the doctor (1893-1952) – Ed._

22 February 1934  
>I saw my patient-to-be earlier. Not right away. It was after the meeting. Said audience went just as it was meant to be. Concise, to the point. Yet notably hesitant. After the formal pleasantries, he told me some details. A woman, no, young lady not past her 20s. Apparently was present in the evacuations [1]. Was in dire need for trauma treatment. Tried asking about additional information. Name, relation, background. Nothing. He said it'll come in due time, starting tomorrow. Judging from his posture, she must be close to the family to warrant all this. Soon enough, was quietly escorted out with some papers.<p>

Then I saw her. Sitting on one of the benches. It wasn't His Majesty's daughter. She looked too young to have served in Europe. Black flowing hair. Oddly flowery dress. Couldn't discern more. But I swear she looked at me. Those eyes. Can't explain it. Something about them. So much warmth. Yet so much pain. No, must have been a mere glance. Can't let my thoughts wander off this early. It'll come in due time, as he said.

_[1] This was long confirmed to be in reference to the Terror and the concurrent mass exodus of refugees across the Atlantic. It remains unclear, however, which phase of the evacuation was being mentioned. –Ed._


	2. Chapter 2

****Disclaimer:****

I don't own _Hetalia_. All rights belong to their respective owners. In this case, Himaruya.

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><p><strong><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale <strong>**

23 February 1934  
>It was decided that I'll need to take temporary lodgings in the Residence for the duration [1]. Was assured that Bridget can come along and be looked after. Considerate of His Majesty, really. But looks like much work's ahead of me. I got to meet the patient. She waited in the reception. Offered to shake my hand. Smiled at me. It was tired. <em>Forced<em>.

She introduced herself as Francesca [2]. There's an aura about her. Looked elegant. Delicate. Refined. Yet somehow there was clearly a look of sternness in her face. More of a fierceness that seemed to balance out her outward appearance. We chatted. Talked about the treatment at first. Then about my career. And other matters. Showed surprising familiarity on culture, history and a variety of topics. Widely read. No, too unusual for her age. Almost as though she had seen them herself. Must be imagining it. Doesn't make sense.

Then I saw the signs. When we discussed the Terror, strong hesitation took hold. Her posture grew increasingly strained. Was clearly desperate. Claimed that she had been there. Went there as the horrors spread across the continent. Saw terrible things left unexplained. Desperation took hold of her voice. Then lost control. Seemed threatened to strike me had not been for the guards. Fear. Shock. Agony. Pain. Severe trauma of the worse sort. But she couldn't have been a refugee. I'm starting to get the message. Much work is ahead of me.

_[1] To keep watch over the patient at all times._

_[2] After consideration, it was decided to keep her first name uncensored. Additional information is available in the Residence and select offices. –Ed._

25 February 1934  
>Submitted my first report a few hours ago [1]. His Majesty's staff had provided me with whatever they had and all else besides. Don't know if sufficient for her. She needs rest right now.<p>

Began the preliminaries yesterday. Wanted to start things off simple. A few diagnostics. Psychiatric tests. The works. Had it done at her balcony. She quietly obliged. Answered everything quietly. Composed strokes. As though she knew _exactly_what to write. But her motions were strained. Clearly holding on to a shred of dignified face. Results showed her to be of sound mind. Looked the part at least. Sane, yes. But hanging on a thread.

That afternoon she offered to guide me around the gardens. Spoke of the different palms and arrangements with impeccable authority. Her enthusiasm was sincere. Yet her pace and gestures were forced. Hiding or likely trying to forget something. Asked her, only to get this reply:

"You should have been there, _Herr Doktor_. I'm sorry."

The words lingered through supper. Bridget tried comforting me. Saying how the girl was in desperate need for help. That I could help put to rest whatever happened to her. I'm having doubts I could even attempt to.

Then the screams came. It was late at night. About 1 AM. Couldn't sleep. Tried to check on her. As I approached, she started screaming. No,_shrilling_. Dear God. Couldn't make out the words. Something about death, Reds, and her parents. Rushed into the room as guards came out of nowhere. Carried several vials of sedative. Watched as they restrained her. As several doses of those vials were taken in. She fell unconscious not before long. I couldn't move. Was quietly brought back to my room. They said I needed some sleep. That was six hours ago. Have to work quickly. What have I gotten myself into?

_[1] The official records are under the possession of the Dynasty, at the behest of the doctor's family. For purposes best left classified, only select researchers are given clearance to view them. –Ed._


	3. Interlude 1

**Author's Notes and Disclaimer:**

Here's a little bit of a translation: "_Schalten Sie es an" _means "Turn it on..." in German. Hopefully, the rest of the gratuitous foreign language is self-explanatory.

And once more, I don't own _Hetalia_.

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><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

**An Interlude**

_There were several audio recordings taken over the course of the operation. A relatively new idea at the time, it was thought that noting down what transpired for the wider world (at least in a sound format) would help boost scholastic research. In this case, however, most were simply destroyed for the safety of all involved. Those that remained were deemed audibly sane enough to be included with these leaves. This particular record dates to around 27 February 1934. -Ed. _

*_click_* "This is Dr. Ludwig Heisenberg. Patient is asleep on the bed, under close watch. Equipment is fully prepared. Graphs are set to record. We are ready to conduct shock therapy trials."

"_Herr Doktor_, she's ready."

"Of course. Stay calm, Francesca. It will only last a few seconds. You won't feel a thing."

"On your signal, sir."

"_Schalten Sie es an_-" *inaudible static* "-at happened to the dosage? _Scheiße_. Restrain her!" *_sound of screaming in background_*

"She's fighting us off, Doctor! We need h-" *_inaudible static_*

*_incomprehensible noise_*"You won't take me! WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT? YOU BASTARDS TOOK EVERYTHING!"*_screeching sounds_*

"Abandon the test! This...oh _Mein Gott_, we-" *_click_*


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes and Disclaimer:**

For those who are curious, it's at this point that Francesca's identity and connection to New Austria/the RDNA itself becomes evident. And it's also by this point that her "parents" begin to make their presence felt. At least that's the intention, anyway.

Once more (hopefully this doesn't get redundant), I don't own _Hetalia_.

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><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

1 March 1934  
>Harder to find time. Bridget is concerned for both of us. No significant progress. A few steps have been made though. This might work.<p>

Began by trying to keep her isolated in the room. She complied well enough. Suggested to His Majesty that someplace completely unfamiliar was better. Was warned that at this rate it would be of little use. Claimed that she has a connection with the country and its people. That she couldn't let go entirely. Couldn't believe myself what he just said. Sounded like those deluded stories heard among some earlier patients [1]. "Nations," personified countries, they said. Did _he _believe them too? I respectfully nodded. Had to take more drastic measures.

Commenced shock therapy trials [2] two days ago. Attempted to sedate her before the initial test. Dosage was insufficient. She started screaming. Defiantly. Fearfully. _Madly_. About the Reds taking her. That she lost everything to them. Then devolving into screeches. Forced to abort the trial. I can still hear them. It's worse than I thought.

Secondary tests were more successful. Heavy sedative and restraints were placed as precautions. There were similar, though notably reduced outbreaks. Awake, she showed fewer outward traces of trauma. Still signs of reluctance to reveal any more about her pain. Thought I saw something line her face for a moment. Wasn't visible. No, I _sensed_ it. Age, generations of countrymen. _I don't know_. This isn't normal for a young lady. Who,_what _are you?

Currently observing her right now. Feel tired. Need a break. She's crying in her sleep. Wait. She's waking up.

_[1] There were many stories circulating among some refugees regarding the Lost Nations. Some allegedly met them personally or knew their true identities. Of the tales compiled, approximately 58% are confirmed as, at least partially, true._

_[2] Electro-induction Treatment was a recent development at the time. First-generation equipment was notoriously inconsistent, however. –Ed._

3 March 1934  
>More progress over the past days. More relaxed. Reduced outbreaks. Could breathe easier myself. Stopped the shocks yesterday for suppressants. Hopefully she won't need them for <em>too<em>long. Still doubt it. Much left to do. At least some normalcy seems to be back. At first glance, anyway.

She offered showing Bridget and I around the Residence earlier today. We accepted and were duly pulled about. Seemed genuinely excited. Were shown the different rooms and halls. The ones allowable anyway. Needed the break. Still, we admired it. Honestly beautiful. She kept smiling at us. Very happy girl. Must have been the doses. Didn't think too much about it.

We were heading back to her room when we tried asking her. On whether she had ever seen Austria and Hungary. Who didn't, really? Many did. At least those who had legs and enough money. Recalled our visits to Vienna. City of dreams, they said. That much was true. And the honeymoon at Balaton [1]. Those were decades ago. Vienna exists _only _in dreams now. Carefully avoided specifics. Commented simply that we did. And that they were wonderful. Thought I saw something stir in her eyes. A familiar hint threatening to come out. It was only a moment. She nodded. Then changed the topic. Her tone sounded more hollow. Yet apart from that, nothing else suspicious. Not more so than she already was. So many questions.

Joined her for supper later on. She was quiet the whole time. Then towards the end, I heard her mutter something. Spoken fast. But haltingly. Barely heard it. I think it's:

"They were together to the very end. _No one _deserved that. Mama, Papa..."

Then she started crying. Silent tears, really. Yet it wouldn't last long. Her face showed it. Quickly dosed her off before another outbreak can happen. Had to be safe. Much work left to do. That phrase is still haunting me. It was about her parents, that I'm sure. But a thought crossed that she may be referring to that earlier question. Were "they" there when the Reds came? Or were they the countries _themselves_? Silly thought. But I'm not getting much answers. Must be losing it.

_[1] A once-picturesque lake in former Hungary, currently known in local Collectivist Standard (ColStandard) as Reservoir C-01. -Ed._


	5. Chapter 4

**The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale**

4 March 1934  
>Not going mad. Not crazy. Take it easy. Checked on her early this morning. 2 AM. Several guards were running the motions. Heard rumors of a Red agent on the grounds [1]. None of that was evident in her room. Just silence. She wasn't on the bed. No, she was at the balcony. Appeared otherworldly. Maybe the moonlight or the nightgown. Staring out into the blackness. Then she turned to me.<p>

Her eyes seemed glazed over. Face had a small smile. Looked hollow. Said to me that she was back in Vienna. Told me of its elegance. Then of crowded, panicked streets. Reds, burnings and of screams and pain. Spoke of them as though she was there. Asked me if I recognized them. She was finding it hard to stand. Let alone control herself.

Then I saw him. On the ground below us. Had a rifle. Fired at me. No, _she_ took the shot. At the neck. Fell from the balcony. Couldn't move away. _Dead_. She died for me.

No. _That wasn't what happened_. Watched as the bastard approached the body. Saw as she struggled to get up. As she grabbed the gun. Pinned him down with shocking ease. Heard her sneer threats of killing him on the spot. Of doing the same to his comrades. There was a familiar trace of iron. Yet it seemed to channel the anger of so many others. She was losing herself by the time the guards came to restrain them both. Ran back to the quarters. Didn't care who or what I hit.

_No one_ could have survived that shot. Let alone the fall unscathed. She should have been dead. It was then I knew. She wasn't _human_. They weren't lying. I hope they were. His Majesty may have been right all along. Is she one of _them_? Those "Nations?" But it can't be! Have to file a report soon. God help me. What am I dealing with here?

_[1] Handfuls of Collectivist agents were known to have crossed the Atlantic during the evacuations. Many were exposed either by customs officers or the refugees themselves. Those left made some attempts to subvert the populace. Mainly, however, they sought to assassinate members of the Dynasty and government. The last remaining one, Karl Grubard, was apprehended only in 1938. -Ed._

5 March 1934  
>Need to calm the nerves. Was on the bed. Glad Bridget was there when I woke up. Some wrinkles and streaked hair, true. But looked just as we first met. Still some of that bright blond left. She held me close. Told me it was midday. Worked myself to sleep it seemed. Thought for a moment how I saw a bit of her in Francesca. Refused to let my mind wander. Needed answers. Quietly I got off the bed. Had to see His Majesty. She insisted on coming with me. Just like her.<p>

Saw several guards and officials along the way. Heard the Red [1] was sent to Frederich Memorial [2] for detainment. Apparently was unable to speak after what he saw last night. Can't blame him. Still astonished of being able to talk _at all_. Learned as well that His Majesty was expecting this. Must have known all along. We were guided to the audience chamber. Left alone. Found no one else present. But _her_.

She waited for us at the table. Looked strained, yet sincere. Beckoned us calmly to sit. Had a warm, yet remorseful look on her face. Then she told us the truth. What we wanted to hear anyway. Tried to make it direct and simple. Told us that she's the embodiment of our country. Or rather, that she _is_ it. Kept trying to find the right words to explain. Said her kind have been living among us for countless generations. Not human, but like us in a fashion. Tied to her land. Her people. _Our _people. The legends, stories, tall tales. They all came back. It finally made sense. At least we hoped so.

Tried holding back surprise. We couldn't speak. I soon found voice to ask why she'd risk telling us all this. It was clear that relatively few people really knew. Not many outside the authorities or Dynasty either way. Doubt we'll ever know the complete story ourselves. She gave a sombre laugh. Said that she trusts us. Sincerely. Apologized for not telling us sooner. Had to be sure, undoubtedly. Held our hands together. Hopes that we'll be able to do something, _anything_, to help. She was struggling by then. To hold back whatever nightmares were haunting her mind. Yet she kept herself long enough to see us to the quarters. Watched as guards escorted her tired body back to the room.

We thought of asking more about her parents lately. But we already knew the answer. They must have been good folk. Raised a wonderful daughter. Should have seen it coming. I'm sorry for your loss. Our loss. I can only imagine the terror you must be feeling. It really should _never _have happened.

_[1] Identified as Oswald Erickson, an ex-lieutenant in the Workers' Collective Militia from old Denmark. His initial sentence of summary execution was lifted to life imprisonment. Made several escape attempts, only to be placed in solitary detainment in 1943. Died in 1950._

_[2] One of the older penitentiaries in the vicinity of Neu Wien. Originally a small outpost during the early Spanish days, it has since become a center for rehabilitation and counter-Collectivist research. As most Red agents are detained here, it need not be said that this is a high-security complex. -Ed._


	6. Chapter 4  The Lost Entry

**Author's Notes:**

When I first wrote this part of the story, I wasn't exactly sure how to classify this as another chapter or an interlude. So for the sake of simplicity, consider this a continuation of "Chapter 4."

Also, this is also the part where things start getting a tad dark. Any Austrian fans might not like what's about to happen...

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><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

**The Doctor's Lost Entry**  
><em><br>_Among the more peculiar finds by researchers over the past few decades was an erased entry from Dr. Heisenberg. Wedged into the diary, it was initially found scratched and blotted-out. Signs point to a deliberate effort to conceal its contents from others, and possibly himself; the attempt was surprisingly thorough on the part of the doctor. Initial efforts to decode it were met with failure, followed by partial leads. It was only in the 1970s that advances made it possible to filter out most of the original words. Needless to say, we understand why he tried hiding this in the first place. As such, this must never be released to the public. It was dated, as far as it was legible, 7 March 1934.  
>- Director Bernhard Wieczorek; Evidenzbureau (1988)<em>  
><em>

__Had a dream. [Strange] one. Was on one of the [ships.] Near the rails. Staring out into a red horizon. One of the refugees approached me. _Limped_ towards me. Looked ragged. More like he'd [been through] Hell. Yet bore an aristocratic air. Or what he could [manage] of it. Bespectacled. Tattered remnants of a dark suit. Burnt traces of a cravat on his neck. Had the feeling I've seen him somewhere before. But that could have been years ago. Forced myself from running.

Asked the figure. He spoke formally. Wanted to anyway. Clearly in pain. Kept stuttering. Said his name was Roderich. [Recognized the] name. Apparently a respected [person] in Austria. Then it hit me. The stories. Of his relation with the Dynasty. That he was close in a way to his countrymen. That he _was_ Austria. [Her father.]

But [he should] be dead. With many others of his kind. That much I know. Found [myself] frozen. Told me he didn't have [much] time. Was coughing blood. The [Reds] utterly destroyed them. And were tearing apart what remained. Separated him from her when the time came. Must have been Hungary. [Wife,] mother, who knows? Has to be.

Deprived them all of _everything_. [Even in] death.

Saw tears in his eyes. Wanted so much to see Francesca. No longer had the power. Wanted to know from me whether she's safe. Couldn't answer. Said I can only [hope.] It was all wrong. [Truly sorry.]

Then I felt the ship tremble. Watched him fade to nothing. Heard an echo. No, a conviction. That they'll all be together again. That everything [will be] all right. One way [or the other.]

My God, [what have]...


	7. Interlude 2

**Author's Notes:**

For those of you who are curious, yes, those lyrics really were taken from _The Sound of Music_. In-verse, an alternate version of the musical-movie was made. Though in reality, it really just seemed fitting, though bittersweet. Especially the song.

As an aside, I don't own the song _Edelweiss_ or _The Sound of Music_ either.

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><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

**Another Interlude**

__If there were any vital secrets leaked by Dr. Heisenberg, he took them to the grave. Yet it's known that he sought discreetly to "bolster the inner strength of his countrymen," including his special patient. One of these was a song composed by Johan Sanchez-Bernstein. Intended to be part of the 1940 recreation musical "Postcard from the Valleys," later a 1951 award-winning American reel, it's long confirmed that it was on the doctor's suggestion; some theorize that the man himself wrote the lyrics. The song itself has since become an unofficial rallying theme for both the local revivalist movements and even the RDNA military. There was no title in the original composition. Here then, at your discretion, are the complete lyrics.  
>- Office of the Prime Minister (1968)<em>_

Edelweiss, Edelweiss  
>Every morning you greet me<br>Small and white, clean and bright  
>You look happy to meet me<p>

Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow  
>Bloom and grow forever<p>

Edelweiss, Edelweiss  
>Bless my homeland forever<p> 


	8. Chapter 5

****The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale****

8 March 1934  
>More progress being made. Resumed treatment Tuesday morning. Visible outbreaks becoming increasingly rare. Considered altering the dosage. Need to speed up recovery. She agreed. Helped that she's doing her share of the effort. Her self-control still astounds me. Even stronger now. Had to keep reminding myself. She's not like most patients. No, <em>any<em> patient. Yet at this rate, there's a good chance. _Only_a chance. That this may actually work. For her own good. For all of us.

Thought came up lately. It's been years since the Terror. Katherine, Wilhelm and Jacques were with the Convoy [1]. Was tending to some new arrivals when the news came. Still hard coping with their loss. Cousins, in-laws. Many others didn't make it either. Bridget had been lucky. Some of her friends and relatives managed to reach one of the last ships. Yet the pain didn't diminish. We weren't the only ones. Lovers, penmates, business associates, friends, family members. Just about everyone lost something or someone. While the Reds live on as a constant danger to what's left.

Waking up everyday, knowing that they're doing their damn worst at finishing the job. Knowing that the ones after us would be born into the same mess. Holding onto a severed legacy while fending off the bastards. Such thoughts can drive some men to the brink. What _then_of a Nation that has to bear all this? Haven't even gotten to whatever personal trauma she witnessed. In some timeframe outlasting even the sharpest old man. Those horrors lasted several years [2]. Must have been a blink of the eye for her. And for the remaining ones, I'm sure. Or not. Don't really know. Still find this hard to grasp.

Asked about her parents over tea earlier. She spoke with difficulty. Hard restraint. Yet a small smile stayed. Told me little. Understandable. Edelstein-Hedervary [3] was their last name. They were close. As much a part of the Dynasty as it was to them. Many cherished memories. She was on the verge of breaking down. Didn't ask further. Quietly brought her the dosages. Still too soon. Perhaps when she's finally recovered. But it's only a chance. I'm willing to take it.

_[1] Likely referring to his two siblings, and close friend, respectively. They were last seen in 1926 outside Hamburg with the infamous Doomed Convoy, a group of mainly Polish and Prussian refugees. The only known details of this convoy came through scattered military reports and refugee accounts._

_[2] Historians generally point to 1922/23 as the beginning of the Terror. Though the signs were present long before, despite desperate efforts to stop them._

_[3] It was also decided to leave this unedited as well. As a tangible link to the old Crownlands, the fact that this surname was retained is significant. -Ed._

10 March 1934  
>Decided to let her move more freely. Kept the dosages and monitoring. She wasn't allowed to leave the Residence's grounds at least. Otherwise, business as usual. Managed to go about with little further incident. So far so good. Already poised to be surpassing expectations. It's actually <em>working<em>. Thought so anyway. She still cries silently in her sleep. Can't stop her from that. Have to keep watch in any case.

The family was relieved with the news. Not entirely. Clearly hoped for the best. But some hesitation stayed in their eyes. Seemed too good to be true, they suggested. Almost like her old self. Just not _quite_. His Majesty tried to explain. The Terror put unimaginable strain on her. Nearly drove her insane. And many others as well. That much I knew.

But combined with the turmoil that followed, it threatened to break her altogether. The riots, displacements, rations and all sorts of messes. Described how she was brought bound and lethally sedated to the Residence [1]. How her Kuban half-brother Francisco, had to be put down. Of severe outbreaks alternating with episodes of tired, forced calm. How she constantly struggled against the madness.

_After all this_. I can see why they find it unbelievable. Not in a place to talk back.

An old clergyman came by for supper, along with a few others. Looked Italian. Introduced himself as Monsignor Giovanni Vargas. A representative of the Holy See [2]. In more ways than one, I was sure. Seemed worn from the eyes. Yet a slight glimmer was there upon seeing her. Made a polite call. Assured him that she's doing well. He gave only a few blessings. Wished me luck. Had a knowing look on his face.

Didn't speak much after. Bridget kept the conversation going. He simply nodded, taking a few bites occasionally. Yet thought I heard something all throughout. Faint murmur. Recognized some of it. Swore some were bits from the Lament for the Lost [3]. Knew it was coming from him. Clearly holding back something. Seemed all the more tired. Must have been around since ancient Rome. Seen a lot perhaps. But _nothing _like any of this. Was _that_ how he coped? Just how long will it take before recovery? Still haunted by what those answers might be.

_[1] She was brought to the grounds soon after her return on Christmas 1927. The Residence itself was placed under heavy military watch for the next three years._

_[2] At the time, the Vatican was temporarily lodged in RDNA territory._

_[3] It was known to have been approved by then Pope Gregory XII in 1928. Most people, however, were unaware of its existence until it was formally revised and presented in 1936. -Ed._


	9. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:**

There was originally a picture included in the DeviantArt copy of the story, which was meant to show what the last stream of refugees during the Terror looked like and who they were. It perhaps helped that said photo was in reality that of Hungarian refugees in Canada, taken around 1956, which made it all the more fitting, or haunting.

Also, this part of the story and the ones after might come off as bittersweet, if not unintentionally cruel for those Hungarian fans. Still, I hope it works out.

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><p><strong><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>**

11 March 1934  
>Tried to shake off last night. Nothing else weird over the past days. Still find this whole Nation idea hard to grasp. The old priest clearly had other thoughts on the treatment. What did he know? Couldn't say. Even if he <em>did<em>, doubt he would say much. Apparently left early morning. Perhaps for my own good. When the time comes, maybe. This can still work.

Didn't want to ask the family on Austria or his wife. His Majesty made it clear. Too soon. About as painful for them as Francesca. Hesitant in any case. Had to look them up on my own.

Knew from research and hearsay that her name was Elizaveta. Said Francesca took after her. Well loved here as well as in Hungary. Should come as no surprise by now. Then Bridget stumbled upon something among a stack of papers [1].

Recognized the picture. One of the last groups of Hungarian refugees from the Continent. Came from different walks of life. Noble, soldier, banker, peasant, and so on. Or rather their families. The rest opted to stay behind, so it went, to fend off those bastards. Whether they knew her or not, they died for their country. Died for _her_. All for nothing. Same for the others. Nations that don't exist anymore. All lost to the damn Terror. If not for the Reds, they could still be going about their lives somewhere. Who knows?

She was never meant to see this. Not now. Maybe it's pointless anyway. Perhaps she already knew. Doesn't take away the horror. But she's making ground faster than expected. She _has_to fight it. Hope the Italian's wrong. For all our sakes.

_[1] The picture was taken around 1927, shortly before Francesca's arrival. –Ed._

14 March 1934  
>This could still work. Trying to. <em>Has<em> to. Having my doubts. Wasn't obvious at first. She made requests to raise the dosages. Went about the routines well enough. Seemed to at first glance. Yet there was something unsettling. A slight edge in her voice. Motions more strained than expected. A _familiar_ look on her face. Not that visible, really. But hints of it returning. It's only become clearer the past few days. Haven't been any significant returns to violent outbreaks. Can't risk having them back. She _shouldn't_. Need to monitor her further.

Not that it's getting any better for both of us. Or safer. More and more guards going about again. Rumors of another Red mutiny [1]. Some good news in the papers at least. The Loyalists are winning in Canada. Looks like the aid's working [2]. Apparently the Governor's envoy was heading here for an audience. Most likely on sparing a few soldiers to the front. Given the mess here and elsewhere, doubt it. Maybe that's really why the guards are all out. Sounds better than another Red with a rifle, at least. Hope I'm right.

Don't know if I should mention this. Checked up on her just an hour ago. Was crying in her sleep. Pillow and blankets were wet. Saw a broken picture frame at her bedside. Turned down at first. Took a deep breath and had a closer look. Had an image of her family. She was in the middle. There were two other figures. Recognized the man as her father, Austria. Looked much more dignified. The woman at the other was definitely Elizaveta. Hungary. She _did _take after her. Or rather, bore a lot from both of them. All of them smiling.

But then I noticed streaks of blood. More than anyone would want to see. Tried to put it back before leaving.

Was that taken from Vienna? Budapest? What did she see there? She must be finding that out this very moment. _All over again_. God, I really don't know.

_[1] Red mutinies among the country's military personnel were notoriously frequent in the first decade after the Terror, though similar cases were reported during those events. These were instigated mainly by disillusioned soldiers, in conjunction to Collectivist cells and agents. While such cases diminished in the following years, the last occurred at the southern frontiers in 1975._

_[2] Attempts by local Collectivist cells in Canada to incite a similar Revolution on the continent resulted in the Dominion Conflict (1929-35). Effectively a civil war, the country was split between the Montreal-based Loyalists and the Red factions mainly around the western territories. With the British Empire critically weakened, the Loyalists turned to the RDNA and American Federation for help. But with most effort being placed on restoring order and a degree of normalcy, little more than sporadic aid shipments could be spared. The war's aftermath, however, left the affected territories severely crippled, forcing Canada to cede them to the Americans. -Ed._


	10. Interlude 3

**The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale**

**Another Interlude**

_The following was taken from Dr. Heisenberg's 1946 "Waiting for Vindication," one of his last papers. This particular excerpt has entered the collective memory of many, including Revivalist leaders and the Dynasty itself. While the paper never explicitly hinted at his patient or her true identity, it's clear that this was as much directed at her as well as the public.  
>- Office of the Prime Minister (1995)<em>

I've seen many things in my life. Memorable things, good, bad and painfully tragic. I lived through the twilight years of a world as it had been before the Terror. The sign of things to come were already there. Yet it bore host to some of the finest times of any year. I'm not the only one. Many others, in this country and elsewhere, could attest to that.

But all such was taken away by the Collectivist menace. We remember the hardships of their aftermath, which continue to haunt us to this day. Soon, the horrors of that time would displace what came before. More likely, it already has. And it won't be long before we'll be gone as well. Our children will inevitably live in a world shaped by those years. And if we can never forget it, neither will they. As much as they might want to.

Yet so long as the Reds exist, we can neither move on nor bring closure to the tragedies that have beset us. They are both a constant danger to the present and a reminder to what we've lost. In a sense, the ones after us will be in the same place as we are: a ceaseless, winding cold war. There seems to be no escape from this predicament. It doesn't take a professional to realize this.

But this can't last forever. It shouldn't. Eventually, something will have to give way. And it must surely be the Reds. There's a hope that from the ashes, our descendants can carry on anew. That the world can continue as it had been before the Terror. So at long last, everything would be all right. Perhaps that's why we continue to struggle. Why we carry on the legacy. Why we hold it together. We can't let them win. We'll see to it.

We don't know when that time will come. Not now, definitely. Neither would it be tomorrow, or the day after. But there will be vindication. I'm sure of it. There has to be. For those before and after us. For the Lost Nations. For our country. For all of our sakes.


	11. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:**

For those, who might be wondering why the interludes seem a little imbalanced in pacing, it was a left-over from the first version on the forum, though I've done what I could to keep it as flowing as possible.

The "Matthew Williams" mentioned is pretty much this AU's version of Canada. Also, this is also the part where things get darker, if not at their most graphic. So thanks for bearing with me.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>**

15 March 1934  
>Didn't think it would actually happen. Weeks of progress. <em>Gone<em>. All because of _them_. Perhaps it really started with that damn meeting. Maybe it would have happened anyway. But if not for _that_.

The envoy arrived promptly around 11 AM. Said his name was Col. William Parker [1]. Looked the part. Had an upper-class English accent. Out of courtesy, and Francesca's safety, I was allowed into the meeting [2]. Went as expected at first. A few pleasantries. A long discussion on the war in Canada. Yet there was something off. The man never touched the subject on aid. Seemed oddly sympathetic to the Reds. Grew more obvious as it wore on.

Then took a combat knife out of nowhere. Lunged _straight at her_. Shouted Red slogans as he tried mutilating her body. I was frozen. _Everything _went wrong. As the guards rushed in, he threatened to kill His Majesty.

Then she started laughing. Damn haunting _laughs_. Still hear them. Those stabs would have killed anyone human. I knew better. Didn't make it any less disturbing.

She stood up. Looked bloodied. Her dress torn. Quickly grabbed the knife and stabbed the bastard. Kept shouting about the Terror. About everything she lost. _We lost_. Mentioned her parents by name. And those of the other Lost Nations. The ones I've heard anyway.

Grew frantic. Sensual. Almost _feral_. Can't get that face out of my head.

Tried grabbing the sedatives. Tossed me aside like some toy. Joined the guards as they restrained her. Had to dose her in lethal amounts. I'm sorry. It all went wrong. It's all failing. I understand now, Francesca. If not for _them_. God help me.

_[1] The real envoy's body was later found in a ravine 16 kilometers from Neu Wien. The Red assassin, whose name remains unknown, is presumed to have been a member of the Canadian Red Faction. Needless to say, it caused some uproar between the Dynasty and the officials in Montreal._

_[2] Needless to say, he was under oath as protocol to keep the intended details private at least for the immediate future. -Ed._

16 March 1934  
>The entire day she never left the bed. She couldn't. Her body had been strapped and bound into it. Even then, the room was constantly guarded. Could only check on her ten minutes at a time. She kept screaming and struggling. No one wanted to take any more chances. Nor be near her. Neither did I. Should feel guilty for all this.<p>

Spent hours finishing reports. Barely ate anything. Bridget had to speak to the family on my behalf. Have to make it up to her and His Majesty. In any case, he was busy dealing with the Canadians over yesterday's mess [1]. Had something to do with giving regards to one Matthew Williams. Didn't listen anymore. It was a welcome respite to focus elsewhere.

Tried to pretend she was just another patient. Just another girl with some irresolvable issues. No, only made it _worse_. To think of her as incurable _at all_. Can't say to their faces how I've failed. Or if I've really failed. That all the care in the world may not be enough. May never be. Who knows?

The screams died down towards sunset. It was deemed safe enough to loosen the restraints and security. A relief for all of us, really.

When I entered, a more familiar face greeted me. Some sanity returned to her eyes. Looked very exhausted. Seemed less a young lady for a moment. More a lone matriarch. In a sense, she was. Wanted terribly to apologize. No, she spoke first. Took all her effort to keep calm. She wanted to ask, _beg_ me for forgiveness. For all that's happened. For what I saw. _Everything_. Or as much as she could say. Fell unconscious soon after. Not like last night. Seemed tranquil, if not for the tears.

All I could say over supper was she's trying her best. Still surprises me how she manages to struggle with the pain. In time, perhaps, she could finally put it all to rest. But _when_? Likely after I'm long dead or when the last Red finally dies. Or will she have to live with this indefinitely?

She said something else before passing out. Barely heard it. That she couldn't do anything to save them. Or rather:

"I saw them die. We were helpless. Forgive me."

I wonder whether it's the same for me.

_[1] Given the circumstances, both countries acted quickly in mending what might have been a major diplomatic blunder. As an act of goodwill, the RDNA pledged further backing of the Loyalists. See Daniel Miller's "The Private History of the British Empire" for more information. –Ed._


	12. Interlude 4

**Author's Notes:**

Here's the final interlude, before the actual last chapters of the story. Also, here's what the (Google-translated) Hungarian means in English:

_"Hol van a lányom? HOL VAN?"_= Where is my daughter? Where?

_"Az idő rövid. Kérlek! Látnom kell őt... segítsen nekem..."_= Time is short. Please! Let me see her...help me...

_"Én mindig szeretem... mondd...meg neki... kérlek..."_ = I'll always love her...tell her...please...

This might help in understanding who exactly the ghost/spirit/mysterious visitor is. (Hint: a mother)

* * *

><p><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>

**Another Interlude**

__The few audio recordings that survive to this day were rigorously screened of any bizarre and sanity-breaking potentialities. This one, however, was retained, containing one of the stranger finds from those events. For reasons unknown, it was decided to leave this in the collection so as to give analysts a sense of the whole picture. More specifically, this concern Dr. Heisenberg's attempt to record his patient's condition in the early hours of 17 March 1934. Caution is advised.  
>- Office of the Prime Minister (1997)<em>_

_*click*_"This is Dr. Ludwig Heisenberg. It is the 17th of March, Saturday. Francesca's still asleep. She appears to be stabilizing. For her privacy, I've managed to have the guards keep their distance, to their relief. As an aside, there've been some unusual claims bei-" _*static*_"-eems drafty...odd. I must be hearing things. Swear I've..." _*faint sounds followed by footsteps*_"Is anybody there? I'm sorry, but show yourself, bitte. This room is of-_"*crashing and walking sounds*_

"_Gott_, of all the times to hav-"_*garbled noise*_"WHAT ARE YOU?"

_*screeching noises*_

"Dear Lord, you can't be..."_*garbled noise*_

_*garbled noise*_"_Hol van a lányom? HOL VAN?_"

"_Himmel hilf mir_...She's inside, sleeping. Just let me..."

"_Az idő rövid. Kérlek! Látnom kell őt... segítsen nekem..._"_*screeching noises*_

_*garbled noise*_"-ughter's still remembers what happened. She's hanging on...I'm sorry. For both of you. Can't begin to imagine what it must have been like."

_*indecipherable sounds*"Én mindig szeretem... mondd...meg neki... kérlek..._"_*garbled noise*_

_*running sounds*_"_Herr Doktor_, is anything wrong?"

"It's...nothing, captain. The patient needs her rest. So I humbly ask that you leave."

"_Jawohl_."

"What did I just... _Scheiße_, it caught everything. No one was meant to see that. Don't know what to say now, Francesca. This...is Dr. Heisenberg. Closing entry."_*click*_


	13. Chapter 8 Final Entries

****The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale.**  
><strong>

17 March 1934  
>Eventful day to say the least. That was an understatement. Those words keep ringing in my head. Can't snap now. Have to stay focused.<p>

Stayed in the room to monitor her progress. Needed to keep busy. Didn't sleep. Couldn't, even if I wanted to. Not after _that_. She woke up around 7 AM. Told me of another haunting dream. Said she heard desperate voices. Those of her mother. If only that were true. Quietly dosed her off before she could finish. Still too soon. Couldn't let her find out. Had the room under watch as I left. Seemed like a good idea then.

His Majesty called by noontime. Praised me for tremendous service to God, liege and country. With all respect, doubt I deserve it. Then he suggested that I return back to regular duties. A relieve from stress. His point was clear. My services were no longer needed. Or that nothing else could be done. Said something else:

"You've experienced the strangeness too, have you not?"

Forced myself not to ask further. Knew too much as is. Undoubtedly he did too [1].

That evening I sensed something was wrong. Bridget must have noticed also. Then again, it had been for much of the day. Something in her eyes. In the way she moved about. Wasn't all that obvious, really. Nothing chaotic. But she seemed to read my every move. That I was holding back something from her. She _knew_.

Francesca was with us for supper. Seemed happy to savor the food and our company. That much was sincere. Yet it seemed as though her very presence was directed at me. As though I suddenly felt the weight of years pressing down. All that really showed was a warm though restrained smile. Then she whispered something. Her voice came out gentle. No, pleading. _Desperate_.

"You saw them right? What did they say? I have all the time in the world. But please tell me. _Please..._"

No one else heard it. Dear God, what am I doing here? Wish they were mere hallucinations. But I can't keep this away from her. Too risky. Could bring peace, or send her down to madness. Don't know. Don't know what to do.

_[1] Several strange occurrences transpired around the Residence, and to an extent in scattered parts of the country, during that initial decade. A number of which were witnessed by His Majesty, Franz Ferdinand I (1863-1936). For safety reasons, these are confidential matters that are best kept aside. -Ed._

_What follows is the final entry directly pertaining to this secluded chapter of the doctor and his patient. The diary, however, also contained writings jotted down in the days between the 17th and 21st of March. What became of these "lost writings" and their whereabouts are strictly confidential, by direct order of the Dynasty. All that can be said of them is that those pertain to "private matters."  
>- Office of the Prime Minister (2007)<em>

21 March 1934  
>Nothing much out of the ordinary earlier. It's been a while since I last entered our home. Or came back to work, so to speak. More patients starting to sign up. Has it already been a month? Still couldn't keep my head straight. Those images keep propping up.<p>

Before we left, Francesca showed us a secret clearing near the Dynasty's Crypt. Apparently not that many were aware this even existed. It was nothing much. A long slab of marble still being polished. Yet freshly engraved were the flags, names and insignia of the Lost Nations. Recognized some of the names. Already knew the answer. Tried to keep quiet.

She stood by one particular section of the slab. There were bundles of edelweiss around it. And tears. Quiet ones. Thought I saw two shapes approach her before vanishing. Couldn't make them out. Didn't want to know. Imagined _their_ faces and those of the other casualties. _All of them_. Seemed as though I was witnessing it happen in all its horror. If there were whispers, I must have shut them out. It was too much.

Her sobs grew louder. Seemed as though she would lunge at us any moment. That never happened. There was a something about her face. Calm, sane. _Longing_. Yet I can't describe it further. Seemed all too familiar. Like _them_. Paid our respects and took leave.

Hasn't been easy on me either. Couldn't quite look at some of the patients straight in the eyes [1]. Bridget urged me to go out for a while. Maybe it's best to tell her what I witnessed.

As for _her_, I still don't know. About her final condition. Or whether to reveal the whole truth. Perhaps one day. I couldn't do much for her treatment. But as an act of mercy, what else is there? _Something_ has turned for the better. If it _does _help in the long run, who knows?

By any chance you come across this Francesca, I'm sorry. Did all I could. Just hope they were right as well. Just hope Father Austria and Mother Hungary were right as well. Everything will fall into place.

_[1] It was known that after his activities in the Residence, Dr. Heisenberg had certain quirks whenever he dealt with refugees. While his "discomfort" was discrete, this, along with special incentives from the Dynasty, may explain some of his behavior later on. -Ed._


	14. Epilogue

**Author's Notes:**

Here at last is the final chapter/epilogue of the story (with only one very slight addition). I chose to break the diary/journal format to put things in the perspective of both the Doctor and Francesca/New Austria herself.

For those curious about the line: _'Schmücke das Heimatland, Schön und weiß, Blühest wie die Sterne,'_ it's a part taken from the (German version) lyrics of _Edelweiss_.

Also, this last part leads up to the RP that started it all (the link could be found in the DeviantArt version). Sadly, the only way non-members are likely to see it is through Google caches, but (hopefully) you won't be disappointed.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

* * *

><p><strong><strong>The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale<strong>**

****Epilogue****

New Vienna, RDNA. 1947

"Dear, are you sure about this?" Bridget calmly held the hand of a frail man sitting by the window. On a table laid an old hardbound book, some torn papers and a set of keys to the file locks.

"Of course. All these have to be sent to the Residence." The man weakly gazed at her. "_Everything_. They can't be hidden forever."

"Don't you think it's too abrupt? We don't even know how significant all this is."

"It's better than the alternative. If endless struggle's all there is, we've already lost." He gave an assuring, if exhausted, smile. "Our motherland only _looks_ fragile, my love. That..._appointment _with the Pearly Gates may be forthcoming. But she has all the time in the world."

For a moment, all that was heard was faint music from the radio, melding with the muddled cries of "Reclaim the Crownlands!" Through the window, they watched as the Austrian Restoration League and Children of Hungary, or so the revivalists called themselves, marched down the street. Old images once more flashed in his head. In their faces he saw her parents. Blurred, haunting, shattered glimpses of what had been. Yet they were also one of defiance and hope. _So long as Francesca lives on, they can never fully die._

"Should have done that years ago. Not even death could silence those desires." he murmured as he held her hands together. "She'll surely see them again. Maybe our descendants will know the answer. Who knows?"

The sounds outside took on a familiar tune: '_Schmücke das Heimatland, Schön und weiß, Blühest wie die Sterne..._'

-o-

The years went on. Battles were waged. Dangers narrowly averted. Soon, those who lived before the Terror began to die. Not long after, the ones who witnessed the Terror itself started following suit. Their combined memories were passed on to their children, and theirs. From Sitka to Ushuaia, life went on despite everything. Faced with the ever present threat of the Reds, it became a way of defiance. Staring at the enemy's face, they would be the continuation of a lost inheritance. All the while struggling forward towards a final retribution where victory wasn't even assured. The late Dr. Heisenberg had been right.

For Francesca, this couldn't go on indefinitely. _Just hope those bastards go before us_. She brushed the thought aside as she walked about the gardens. Noticing her footsteps, she suddenly realized how she was following the same path used to guide the Doctor about; he wasn't the only one. In another time, another couple relished the very flowers around her. _Mama, Papa... No, not again. _She forced back the urge to cry.

It had been 80 years since the attempt. Sometimes, she still felt guilt over what happened and the nightmares he glimpsed. Yet had it not been for his efforts, in addition to hers, the Nation doubted whether she would have kept her sanity. Even after all this time, there was at least some consolation.

The arrival of one of the aides broke her train of thought. "_Meine Fraulein_, His Majesty kindly invites you over for some refreshments by the patio."

"Of course," she smiled. "Please let Franzi know that I'm coming."

As she made her way, a thought crossed her head that everything would be alright. _That's we'll all be together again._ Had it not been for him, those words may never have reached her. In another time, she would have heard the voices uttering them. Quietly, she gave a salute to her beloved citizen. _Danke._

"Is something the matter, _Fraulein_?"

"Don't worry. I just remembered an old friend." There were a few drops on the grounds as she walked. Her liege, Franz Ferdinand II was waiting.

In time, everything would fall into place. _One way or the other._

_ENDE_


End file.
